It’s a Trap
Scroll
The Poem
It’s a Trap
Mickey is in handcuffs.The smile is unchanged.It was designed to be unchanged,the face of a corporationthat understood earlythat the most powerful thingyou can sellis the feeling of being a childin a world that is safeand magicaland has no corridor.
The smile that cannot change
The corridordoes not carewhat you came as.The nun.The blindfolded woman with bunny ears.The one runningwho hasn’t understood yetthat the corridorgoes in both directionsand runningis just a faster wayof staying.
The tiger on the rugwho has no illusionsand has decidedthe rug is enough.
They all end up here.Same lights.Same chairs.Same smilethat cannot changebecause changingwould meanit was real.
It’s a trap.Not the corridor.The smile.The manufactured happinessthat was there before you arrivedand will be there after,the facethat greets youat the entranceof every placethat wants something from youwhile appearingto give you something.
The empty chairs.The waiting roomfor the thingthat was promisedby the smilethat cannot change.
The tiger knows.Says nothing.Mickey smiles.The lights hum.
And at the left edge of the framethe woman with the gas maskis still breathingon her own terms,
Breathing on her own terms
which is,
in this corridor,
the only honest act
of resistance
left.